


Springfield

by clear_sight



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Service Dogs, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 19:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10142705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear_sight/pseuds/clear_sight
Summary: There was a man who walked his dog every morning in the park where Clint went for his run.  Of course, Clint knew that was perfectly normal.  It was the dog's service animal vest that caught his attention.  He had the guy figured for ex-military, he just hadn't figured him for the Winter Soldier, the ghost sniper.  Or, well, former Winter Soldier.  It was a spur of the moment decision to buy the guy a coffee from the stand they both frequented.  He had wanted to ask about the dog.  He didn't expect that it would become anything more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the WinterHawk mini-bang challenge on Tumblr. I'm just basically incapable of writing short stories...

There was a man who walked his dog every morning through the park where Clint liked to run.  Clint was aware that, yes, that was entirely normal.  It was just that something about the guy seemed off.  He seemed… hunted.  The dog was a massive creature that looked like a cross between a lab and a Doberman.  Unlike his master, he always seemed alert but relaxed, just strolling casually and watching the people around them with a cautious eye.  Not that there were usually many people at four thirty in the morning, but Clint supposed that was probably the point.

If there was one label Clint would definitely use to describe himself – aside from ‘human disaster’ – it would be ‘dog person.’  Dogs were just easier to deal with than people.  They were kinder, simpler, didn’t drink, didn’t play mind games.  If you were good to them, dogs were loyal and loving.  They were also spectacular ice-breakers.  Normally, he would have no qualms about approaching someone with a dog.  This was doubly true if he had Lucky with him.  However, there were several things that stopped him in this instance.  The first, of course, was the wary expression of the dog’s owner.  Judging by the haunted look about him and the way he carried himself, not to mention the early hour, Clint would bet he was ex-military.  Seemed jumpy as hell, too, even if the dog was generally relaxed.  The long hair, though, that didn’t really seem so military, but there was probably a story there.  But the biggest thing that stopped him was the vest.  He never got close enough to read the white text embroidered onto the huge red stars on the dog’s sides, but he was willing to bet it was the standard “Service Animal Do Not Pet.”  The vest was navy blue with gunmetal grey reflective trim and stood out against the black of the dog’s coat.  And across his back sat Steve’s shield in stark red, white, and blue embroidery.  If nothing else had convinced Clint the man was ex-military, that did.  It also never failed to make him smile.

This particular morning, however, he had stopped for coffee, because coffee was an essential part of his mornings.  And the man and his dog were right behind him in line.  He really wanted to ask about the dog, at least what breed he was, but he was conscious enough of service animals to know better.  Besides, the man seemed anxious.  But the dog didn’t.  He sat at his master’s side, mouth open and tongue lolling in a relaxed expression.  If anything, he seemed interested in his surroundings.  So Clint decided to go for it.

“Pretty dog,” he commented.  That was neutral enough.  It certainly got the man’s attention.  Immediately, he zeroed in on Clint with laser-like focus and okay, that was a bit intimidating.  The guy had a thousand yard stare the likes of which Clint had never seen.  But his eyes were so  _ blue _ .  Beyond the hunted expression, he was actually pretty handsome.  

Bucky hadn’t expected anyone to try to speak to him.  There weren’t many people in the park at four thirty in the morning, which was the point.  But the coffee stand opened at five and sometimes he would stop by after his morning run.  Seldom were there other people in line with him, and he had found that keeping his head down and Springfield close tended to keep people from approaching him, although it had happened a few times.  In a soft voice that sort of sounded to Clint like he had gargled glass, he murmured a quiet, “Thanks.”

“What breed is he?” Clint pressed.  Hey, the guy was talking.  That was something.  And now Clint was interested in  _ him _ , too, not just the dog.  He sounded like he almost never spoke.

“He’s, uh, he’s a beauceron,” Bucky answered, not quite sure what this guy’s deal was.  “His name is Springfield.”

“Like the city?” Clint asked.

Bucky shook his head.  “Like the rifle.”

The man was most  _ definitely _ military, Clint decided.  With a service dog named after a rifle and wearing Steve’s shield, there was no way he wasn’t.  Probably a sniper, too.  Given his dog’s name.  Springfields had been common sniper rifles in… in  _ World War Two _ , Clint realized.  Slowly, he asked, “What’s your name?”

At that, Bucky looked slightly more uncomfortable, but he answered anyway, his voice still soft but gravelly, “Bucky.”

_ “Bucky?!” _  Clint could feel himself staring, but he couldn’t help it.  Steve’s shield, a service dog named after a World War Two sniper rifle, and the name Bucky.   There was no way.  This was  _ the _ Bucky.  James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.   _ Steve’s _ Bucky.  Clint had heard about the battle in DC and knew Steve had found his long-lost best friend, but Clint had yet to meet the guy.  But the man just shifted his weight and brought one leather-gloved hand up to brush his hair back behind his ear.  Clint had to ask, “Do you know Steve Rogers?”

Now he  _ definitely _ looked uncomfortable, but he nodded.  “We… we’re friends.”

“So I’ve heard,” Clint smiled.  “My name’s Clint.  Er, Hawkeye.  I work with Steve.”  Bucky’s eyes went wide and yeah, he’d definitely heard of Clint.  That made Clint unreasonably happy.  “Little bit embarrassing, but I’m kind of a fan of yours.”

“Of  _ me _ ?” Bucky asked.  He sounded shocked.

“Well  _ yeah _ ,”  Clint told him.  “I’m a sniper myself.  And you were, like, the best sniper in World War Two.  Dude, you were my favorite Howling Commando.”

And now Bucky looked ready to bolt.  Great.  Way to go, Clint, just scare the guy off.  “I’m not him anymore,” Bucky said in that same soft voice, like he was incapable of speaking louder than a whisper.  At his side, Springfield turned to nuzzle and lick at his hand.  He had obviously picked up on his master’s discomfort.

_ Oh _ , Clint thought.   _ He’s the Soldier.  No wonder… _  Gently, he assured, “I got you, man.  Trust me, if there’s anybody who understands brainwashing it’s me.  It’s a long story, involving a crazy Norse god.”  He repressed a shudder at the thought of Loki.  “Hey, you getting coffee?  Let me get it for you and maybe we can talk for a while?”

Bucky shifted again, but nodded.  If this was one of Steve’s colleagues, then he was probably safe, he reasoned.  Besides, Springfield didn’t seem concerned.  The dog was a better judge of character than he was, and the only thing he seemed worried about was Bucky’s anxiety.  And they were in a public space.  There were enough people milling around that it would grant him some protection.

“Great,” Clint replied with a smile.  And it was finally their turn in line, so he motioned Bucky ahead of him.  Springfield got up and walked at his side, ignoring Clint completely.  Intellectually, Clint knew that was part of his training as a service dog, but it was still interesting to see.  Lucky was  _ never _ that well behaved – he just wanted to make friends with everyone.  Bucky quietly ordered a coffee and a bagel and Clint got a coffee and a doughnut, because he was of the opinion that caffeine and sugar constituted their own food group, and Clint paid before guiding them over to a picnic table nearby.

Bucky perched anxiously at the end of one bench, Springfield leaning against his legs, and Clint sat down opposite him.  ‘Skittish’ was an understatement, Clint mused.  But he was here, and that was something.  So he asked, “You don’t go running with Steve in the mornings?  I know he goes.  I used to go with him, but I gave up on that.  Can’t keep up with the guy unless you’re a superhuman, and I most definitely am not.  Plain old ordinary human, plain old ordinary jog.”

_ Finally _ , Bucky smiled.  If you could call it that.  It was little more than the corners of his mouth tilting slightly upward, but it was something.  He shook his head and said, “No.  Springfield makes a better running partner.  Doesn’t try to lap me to show off.”

Clint couldn’t help laughing at that.  He could totally see Steve doing that.  “I can see that.  I didn’t bring Lucky out with me today, because I didn’t want to end up taking a detour every time he spotted a squirrel, but usually he’s my running partner.”

“Lucky?” Bucky asked curiously.  That was the first thing he had said that didn’t sound nervous.  Progress!

“Pizza-dog,” Clint confirmed.  “Some kinda yellow mutt.  I took him in after he got hit by a car.  Hey, you come here every morning?”  Clint knew the answer to that question, but he waited for Bucky’s nod anyway.  “I’ll bring him tomorrow so you can meet him.”

At that, Bucky actually  _ did _ smile.  And wow.  When he actually smiled he looked like he could be an old time movie star if he just cut his hair.  Clint chided himself for the thought.  Bucky was probably straight.  And even if he wasn’t, he probably wasn’t looking for anything.  Besides, if he wasn’t, then there was a good chance he was with Steve.  Finding out Steve was bi had been a bit of a shock, but it was good to know there was somebody else on the team who was.

“Hey,” Clint ventured cautiously, gesturing to Springfield.  “I may be out of line here, and you can tell me if I am, but can I pet him?”

Bucky looked down at Springfield, who was sitting pressed against his legs, and just sat for a moment.  Long enough that Clint had almost convinced himself he had crossed some sort of boundary.  But then he nodded and said to the dog, “Springfield, go say hello.”

At that, Springfield got up and trotted over to Clint.  Tail wagging hopefully, he rested his chin on Clint’s thigh and looked up at the doughnut in his hand.  Clint just laughed and scratched the dog’s ears.  “You’re definitely better behaved than Lucky.  He’d’ve just tried to steal this right outta my hand.”

“Springfield, don’t beg,” Bucky scolded gently.  The dog actually looked shamed as he stepped back to his master’s side.

They sat in silence for a few more moments until Clint had finished his doughnut and coffee.  Once he had, he stood up and looked to Bucky.  “Do this again tomorrow?”

Much to his surprised, Bucky looked up at him with a small smile and nodded.  “Sure.”

“Great!” Clint grinned.  “I’ll bring Lucky out with me tomorrow.  See you, then.”

Bucky just nodded and watched Clint go before getting up and heading for home, Springfield glued to his side.


End file.
